


when the more it heals (the worse it hurts)

by Alysae



Series: we built a dynasty (forever couldn't break up) [1]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Character Resurrection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, M/M, basically a lot of bruce whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 18:43:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13277610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alysae/pseuds/Alysae
Summary: Paying for the funeral left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was the only thing Bruce Wayne could do─even if nobody knew about it.(Though Diana sometimes looked like she knew, like she understood. It only made his chest constrict that much harder.)Or; Bruce tries to befriend Clark because he knows he doesn't deserve more than friendship. Clark begs to differ.





	when the more it heals (the worse it hurts)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a lot more fan of DCAU than the movies, but! BvS and JL do give us a lot of angst opportunity between Bruce and Clark and I _love_ that  
>  Hope you like it!

When the blinding light dissipated, and everything suddenly turned quiet, Bruce’s heart stopped for a second. He held his breath as the creature stumbled and fell to the ground, immobile. He held his breath, still, when Clark followed suit, arms stretched out and immobile.

And he wasn’t getting up.

Diana stepped forward, slowly, and Bruce’s legs imitated her. Clark still hadn’t budged.

Images of the past few hours had flashed through Bruce’s mind─rain mixing with sweat, screams and green light and _blood_. And it hit him in full force that he would have staggered to his knees had it not been for Lois Lane’s cries.

He helped Diana bring the─still warm─body to the journalist, quiet. Nobody uttered any words, just Lane’s repeated,

“ _Clark, Clark, Clark─_ ”

Bruce felt as though someone had punched him violently in the gut. And he definitely deserved it.

* * *

 The funeral hadn’t been any better.

He hadn’t dared to approach anybody─neither Lois Lane nor Martha Kent. He didn’t think he could have said anything with the lump in his throat, anyway.

He had watched from afar, his fist trembling slightly at his side as they lowered the coffin on the ground and that awful, _awful,_ music was playing in the background.

_He should have gone to the official funeral_ , he had thought at the moment. _It would have been probably less painful_ , he had thought.

(Who was he trying to fool? Wherever he had gone, it would have hurt just the same. Watching Lane’s and Mrs. Kent’s grieving faces _hurt_. Just as much as it would have hurt seeing everyone’s faces, crying and snotty─of children with their hopes crushed, of soldiers who felt the loss of a comrade, of the adults who probably felt their lives fall apart.)

It would have been no better.

(He, later on, watched the official funeral on the internet, from every angle possible, as many times as he could so he couldn’t forget, so it would be carved into his soul. _What he had caused_.)

Paying for the funeral left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was the only thing Bruce Wayne could do─even if nobody knew about it.

(Though Diana sometimes looked like she knew, like she understood. It only made his chest constrict that much harder.)

* * *

“I’ve failed him… in life. I won’t fail him in death.”

That’s what he had told Diana at the funeral. And yet, staring as Superman flew high above him, Bruce couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach that he had utterly failed him anyway. That whatever he would have done in his life, the rage in Superman’s blazing blue eyes would never leave.

_He had what he deserved_ , he had thought numbly as Superman’s hand closed harder around his throat. As he was lifted off the ground and thrown around like a stringless puppet.

And isn’t that exactly what he had done to Clark Kent, months ago? Hadn’t he held Clark by his throat, suffocating him, as he threw him on the ground? Hadn’t he dragged Clark’s weak, barely breathing, body by his foot? Hadn’t he marked him with a spear of sharp kryptonite and enjoyed hearing him scream? Hadn’t he been about to _kill him_?

Of course he understood Clark’s rage─of course he deserved it.

And yet he hid behind Lois Lane.

He deserved every fist, every punch, every kick from Clark─and yet he had called Lois Lane to calm him down because─

Because he couldn’t face it─that pure, unadulterated rage from Clark. It contorted his face in an ugly grimace and _Bruce just couldn’t face it_. 

* * *

Bruce felt a terrible sense of _déjà-vu_ twist his insides.

_When the blinding light dissipated, and everything suddenly turned quiet, Bruce’s heart stopped for a second. He held his breath─_

And sound rushed back into his ears─the metallic sound of the structure falling, the sound of armour and cloth rubbing against cloth as bodies moved, and the sound of groans as he saw Superman and Cyborg standing up.

Air rushed into his lungs and his heart was beating suspiciously fast, and he couldn’t help but think about Superman’s ability to hear even breaths and heartbeats and─

And he couldn’t stop staring at Clark.

And, well, it was a little too late to cover up his stuttered words.

And his heart felt a little lighter when Clark smiled at him, slightly timid and everything that Bruce could have wished for.

(Clark’s gaze _did_ linger a little too long on Bruce as if he was trying to decipher something, but Bruce stubbornly looked away.) 

* * *

“You did _what_?” Clark’s voice went a little shrill at the last word.

“I─” Bruce paused, and actually took his time to reflect on what he said. “I bought the bank…” It then came to him that normal people don’t just go out buying entire banks for their friends.

(And didn’t _that_ thought sent his heart a little aflutter?)

“Bruce, I─ You─ Oh my God,” Clark continued eloquently, running his hand through his dark curls.

“It’s fine, Clark.”

“No. No, it’s not. Holy─” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to repay you. One day.”

“Yeah, sure. With a reporter’s salary.”

“Don’t mock me,” Clark said sharply. “I’m going to. Every cent of it.”

“Clark, you don’t need to. It’s really nothing.”

“Of course it is. You already did so much for my family.”

Bruce looked down. “It’s the least I could do.”

He felt Clark’s hand squeeze his shoulder in a friendly manner, and his heart constricted for some reason. “Thank you.”

And Bruce wished he was deaf so he wouldn’t hear all the sincerity and love and friendship in Clark’s honest voice. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again and sending Clark a small smile.

* * *

It seemed as if everything was a forgotten and forgiven.

Clark would invite Bruce to the farm and they would share dinner with Mrs. Kent and amiably talk about Clark’s childhood as if Bruce was a long time family friend.

_Which he wasn’t_ , his mind helpfully reminded him, repeatedly. Every time Clark would direct at him, a thought like that one squirmed to the front of his mind and Bruce would shut down. His relaxed posture would tense up, his smile would disappear and all the walls Clark effortlessly brought down would go up again, closing around Bruce like a fortress.

Mrs. Kent would send him a confused and worried look at his sudden quietness, and Clark would squeeze his shoulder and give him a timid smile.

And everything would just start all over again.

* * *

It was to him, of all people, that Clark came to when he and Lois broke up. He hadn’t cried, thankfully, and looked as if he was dissociating, wringing a ring between his hands absently.

Bruce knew that feeling. As if nothing surrounded you and you were completely alone, staring into the void, spacing out. He did his best to show to Clark that he was there for him.

Clark had smiled, muttered something under his breath that Bruce couldn’t quite catch, and leaned sideways against Bruce’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a long moment, in silence.

Bruce’s heart had missed a beat, but he successfully controlled his heartbeat. His mind was reeling and blank at the same time─too many thoughts and none at all.

But the tightening of his heart, the lump in his throat, and the turning of his stomach were very, _very_ real.

Clark fell asleep against him.

* * *

After that, Clark came to visit him every so often, most of the time staying the night in the guest room and training with Bruce down the Cave. It was weird and Bruce tried his best not to get used to it.

In the times they were training or working on the Computer, they worked on restoring Clark Kent’s identity back. It was a long, legal, process, and it took _months_ to bring Clark Kent back from the dead. The worst part was explaining _how._

All the while Clark stayed with Bruce, going back and forth between Gotham City and Metropolis to be Superman.

(“Why don’t you get your apartment back?” Bruce had asked, with pure curiosity, completely ignoring that useless hope in his chest.

“And how would I explain that I’d be using Clark Kent’s documents? He’s still dead, for what they know.”

“You could falsify documents for another disposable identity.”

Clark had shrugged, looked down, and played with a trinket from Alfred’s worktable. “Too much work,” he had finally said. “And I like it here.”

Bruce had made a joke about getting spoiled on luxury, and Clark _did_ laugh at the lame joke.

But then he had given Bruce that small shy smile and Bruce was a mess again─the lump in his throat returned and his heartbeat sped up, slipping pas Bruce’s control like water through fingers.

And Clark’s smile had widened.)

And when Clark’s identity was restored, he still kept coming back to Bruce, smiling and luminous and reminding each time that Bruce definitely didn’t deserve him. 

* * *

It happened when Bruce got injured─a stab wound to his abdomen─and it was only him and Clark.

(Clark all but ordered─politely─Alfred away so he could be the one to tend to Bruce’s wound.)

Bruce wasn’t on painkillers, as that would leave him completely vulnerable, but he was being sloppy. Usually, he was very good at staring without being noticed─he blamed the pain and the blood loss.

He sat shirtless on the seat in front of the Computer, leaning back so it would be easier for Clark─who was leaning in, and Bruce could feel his warm breath against his skin─

Clark looked up again, certainly sensing Bruce’s continued stare. “Does it sting?” he asked as he applied a little more of disinfectant.

“No,” Bruce said, just as Clark applied _more_ and Bruce’s muscles contracted in pain. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he rectified at Clark’s insistent look.

Clark visibly tried to suppress a smile, but utterly failed. And─and that smile─was it _fondness_ Bruce was seeing? He felt slightly delirious at the thought, pushing it back because _no_ , that _wasn’t_ it, you _fool_.

He let Clark finish his work, wounding a bandage around the wound. His fingers lingered on the thin tissue and Bruce held his breath just as his heart uncontrollably jumped into his throat, acutely aware that Clark probably heard every movement on Bruce’s body.

“I think I know what you’re thinking about, and I have to warn you that it is a really bad idea,” Bruce said rapidly before Clark said or did anything that he would regret.

Bruce’s heart was trying to escape his chest.

Clark looked momentarily surprised before settling for an annoyed expression. The fingers on Bruce’s abdomen moved up and wrapped around Bruce’s neck. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And suddenly all thoughts about how this wasn’t going to last flew out the window as Clark kissed him deeply, lips soft against his, and left Bruce completely breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> There'll be a second part that can be read as a stand-alone work


End file.
